Nine Colors of War
by LittleFics
Summary: "Luna Lovegood was resilient- being the way that she was, she absolutely had no choice."


**Disclaimer:** LittleFics does not own any part of this story. Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, and is not LittleFics intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

-Made for the Colors Challenge-

 **Nine Colors of War**

Luna Lovegood was resilient- being the way that she was, she absolutely had no choice. But after the war was done, and the cruelties it left behind sunk into her innocent mind, she became weak. One might call it depression that she faced, Luna just called it grief.

Her father felt her change in attitude maddening. He encouraged her to find a way to channel her sadness. To make the world a better place and so, after a few months, Luna revisited a talent and escaped the gloom.

She painted. She painted so well and realistically that her pictures were bound to leap off the page.

And then, while practicing outside, a handsome stranger walked by. His name was Rolf and he made her happy. Happier than she thought she could ever be.

He knew her better than anything, and so when the ten year anniversary of the war ending came and she got sad again, he worried that their lives would frequently come to that sort of hault. Rolf suggested that she do some paintings of the people who had languished with her, hoping that it would help her completely heal.

Luna absolutely loved the idea.

She deemed her collection 'The Nine Colors of War'

* * *

 _Scarlett_

The first portrait Luna painted was not really a portrait at all because nobody had posed for it. The idea itself sprung from a memory, which was etched so deeply into the young woman's mind that it frequently woke her up at night- and that night was no different.

She fretted in her own way as the brush strokes began to form Madam Pomfrey's person, for the matron would certainly be appalled to find herself glorified in any sort of way; Pomfrey was far too practical for such admiration.

But Luna knew herself well. She knew that she wasn't good at portraying admiration, at least in the traditional sense, so in all likelihood, others would not see her work as admiration at all.

It was actually a very simple picture:

The old nurse hunched over in a chair in what was once the Great Hall, one nylon covered leg crossed over the other, black heels disregarded on the floor below. Her right elbow was leaning on her knee and the similar hand was drawn over her eyes. It wasn't apparent that she was crying but she was clearly grieving- utterly exhausted and yet, unable to rest. Madam Pomfrey's crisp, **scarlet** uniform sat on her body ripped, unbuttoned, and crumpled, her usually authoritatively pinned hair turned wispy and unsecure. The base of her jaw was speckled with blood.

A person who hadn't attended Hogwarts would not understand the weight of this picture, rather, this memory, Luna had preserved. They wouldn't know how powerful it was to see such a beautifully composed woman in such a pathetic state, but Luna did.

She named it 'The Healer's Misery'

* * *

 _Tangerine_

The concept for George Weasley's portrait hit Luna like a lightning strike. The thought itself was shocking- almost provocative- and so when she traveled to his new flat near Number 93 Diagon Alley, she was _practically_ nervous.

His smile was bright as he gaily ushered her in and Luna thought aloud that flat was nice, no Butterbeer Cork anywhere to ward off the Nargles, but certainly homey. Then she asked to snap a photograph and George's smile faded.

He told her that he didn't like to look at pictures of himself anymore. That he would sometimes get confused and see Fred in the frame. That it was suddenly a painful thing for someone to do to him. And so Luna said he didn't have to look, at any rate, she would be doing a painting, a painting in which he absolutely _wouldn't_ see Fred.

George was a good sport, if only to get her to leave him be.

A few days later when the portrait was finished, Luna took it to Rolf who was quite busy examining a Doxy. He squinted and pointed to the left side.

"It's not complete, darling." He said, avidly turning back to his oversized magnifying glass and the Doxy. "The whole left side is _missing_."

In the frame was a man with **tangerine** hair. He stood to the far right, hands tucked passively in his pockets, wearing a sheepish smile that, perhaps, was not really a smile at all. And then scene came to an abrupt stop. The color dropped off- an invisible line ran straight down the middle of the canvas and everything to the left of it was untouched by Luna's brush.

"Well, I think that's the point."

She called it 'Blank Space'

* * *

 _Saffron_

Somehow, Minerva McGonagall got wind of Luna's project and felt it necessary to ask her to Hogwarts. It was only September, but the Headmistress got caught up lecturing some rowdy boys and therefore their meeting took place much later than scheduled. Luna didn't mind. There were so many interesting things to look at in Hogwarts.

When they were finally alone in that circular office, Professor McGonagall offered a biscuit which Lovegood politely declined- she was in much more of a mood for pudding anyhow.

The woman who stood in front of her was much older than Luna remembered but no less wise or sharped tongued. She worried that Luna wasn't being delicate enough. That her "eccentric" personality kept her from feeling all the grief and loss that others suffered, but Luna told her she felt it all too; She had just decided to act upon it in a different way and that way painting them.

McGonagall's eyes suddenly sprung up with tears and she whirled around, arms crossed, to face the slumbering portraits of her predecessors. Immediately, the back of her form was silhouetted against the wall by the falling sun and its **saffron** light. One hand, wrinkled with all the years of her life, reached out and brushed fondly against the picture of Severus Snape.

The woman was haunted, but that only made it more beautiful.

"I'm glad you found a way." Old McGonagall whispered. "Heaven knows somebody had to."

Luna, feeling not at all embarrassed and especially tickled to have been privy to such an intimate moment, rushed back and captured it with her brush.

She titled it 'Retrospect'

* * *

 _Emerald_

When James Sirius was born, Luna waited a decent, as she reasoned, eleven days to go and visit. She had always found babies delightful with their wide eyes and endless potential and the newest Potter member was no exception.

But she didn't coo over him; Instead, she believed herself to have had a full, adult conversation with the baby- visual responses rather than verbal, of course. And when she handed him, wrapped tightly in yellow, back to his father, another wave of creativity overcame her.

Luna painted Harry with his very new son, safe between strong arms, rocking in Mrs. Weasley's well-used rocking chair. He wore a look of such fatherly pride, that when he stared straighton at the viewer, they would see his eyes had gone watery with joy. It was sweet- so sweet that Luna decided color wasn't entirely necessary.

And so Harry's portrait was done in black and white, apart from his brilliantly **emerald** green eyes which absolutely commanded attention.

She labeled it, "Not The Boy Anymore"

* * *

 _Blush_

Luna saw Susan Bones for the first time in years during a trip to the Ministry in which Rolf was getting a license to hunt a very rare breed of Troll.

Still in her twenties, Susan walked with a gait and cane. Splinched. A true tribute to the hell that had been her life during the war. But in her other arm, she carried a dozen **blush** roses and Luna dared to ask why.

Susan threw Luna a sad smile and tossed her head in the direction of a statue. Her only family, her aunt, Amelia, stood looking sturdy and just, immortalized in heavy stone.

"It's been eleven years today."

She limped over to the mounting and placed the roses at Amelia's feet, her cane supporting her shaking weight the whole way. It was conscious effort to stay upright, probably painful, and yet Susan did.

Luna felt horribly sad when she finished the painting of that very moment.

She deemed it, 'Eleven'

* * *

 _Sapphire_

Little Rose Weasley had inherited all of her mother's features, well, all of them except her hair color. Her mane of frizzy, red hair, trailed behind her wildly as she bolted through their yard, giggling the whole way.

When she got tired, she climbed up onto her mother's lap and began to play with the jewelry that adorned her neck. Luna thought it was very pretty, as well.

"Can I wear it, mummy?" The little girl practically begged. "Just for a little while."

Rose's mother toyed with the thing uncertainly. She seemed quite unwilling to let it leave the safety of her throat.

"Yes, Rose." Hermione relented at length. "But only for a moment."

Little Rose quivered with delight, and Luna couldn't help but smile as she watched Hermione loop the necklace, with its radiant **sapphire** stone, around her daughter's neck. It was precious, made even more so by the fact that it had once belonged to Mrs. Granger who had long since been killed by a curse she couldn't even see coming.

Rose would never know her grandmother, but one day, Hermione would pass down to her that necklace for many, many moments and, in a small way, that was comforting.

Luna painted that exact picture when she left the Weasley's home for her own.

She named it, 'Her Mother's Gift'

* * *

 _Lilac_

Teddy Lupin was a moody pre-teen by the time Luna got around asking him and his grandmother for a portrait. He grumbled and slouched when Andromeda tugged him along. She, however, was still looking very beautiful- radiant, possibly, despite all of the years and their hardships, but even her smile dulled when Luna presented the idea.

Andromeda practically shook. She told Luna that she had never, _ever_ , taken Teddy there before. That it would put him on edge. That it would _break_ him.

And so Luna simply asked Teddy if he wanted to go. The boy purposefully avoided his grandmother's direction and nodded. It was settled.

She painted Teddy and Andromeda from the back in the cemetery. The woman's hand rested fondly on her grandson's neck as he bent his head to look more closely at the names on the tombstones- Remus and Nymphadora Lupin.

It wasn't gloomy, in fact, the sun was shining at high noon and the butterflies were out. They came in a mass, their **lilac** wings carried them over to where the Lupin's laid as if pulled by Andromeda and Teddy's sorrow. Luna couldn't paint Teddy's sniffle, but when she looked at her work, she felt it.

She called that one, 'Butterfly Kisses'

* * *

 _Ivory_

Alicia Spinnet arrived at Luna's home quite disoriented. She fretted over her mess of curly hair which she hadn't had time to style on account of Quidditch practice so Luna laughed and told her she liked it _much_ better that way.

Imperfections, after all, made people beautiful.

The woman sat for her portrait with only a creamy satin sheet wrapped around her toned waist. That pitch black hair thrown over one shoulder and over the other, a sideways glance- her hazel eyes managing to be demur, searing, and prideful all at once.

The web of **ivory** scars that ran from her neck to her tail were breathtaking against caramel colored skin and Alicia stretched her arms out, turning them crooked like the branches of a wind-blown tree.

She wore disfigurement like a medal and it was exquisite.

In the portrait Luna painted her scars into the frame of delicate Lacewings and Alicia's body seemed quite ready to take flight off the canvas, her beauty apparent from all angles.

She deemed it 'Soaring'

* * *

 _Ebony_

Astoria Malfoy was the first and only request for a portrait that Luna took. In the beginning, Luna was rather skeptical for she had been through quite a bit of suffering at the hands of a Malfoy.

It was hard not to be prejudiced, and mean, and spiteful and tell Mrs. Malfoy crudely to look elsewhere for a clearing of her husband's conscious, but Luna didn't.

Instead, she traveled to an expensive looking estate in Oxfordshire and was greeted by a hugely pregnant Astoria. She was much nicer than Luna imagined and not quite as pretty, although she did wear the highest fashioned robes.

Her husband visibly paled, if possible, when he saw Luna and floundered, not quite able to find the words to say whatever it was he wanted to. Luna patted him on the bicep daintly.

"I forgive you. I'm sure a lot of us do."

That was all, because it was true. There was no more time anger.

She had him sit in a winged chair, his pale skin glowing against the dark fabric. Draco lifted his left forearm over his eyes- the windows into his soul so easily blocked. He flashed the viewer that sinister, **ebony** tattoo and it was just as ugly as so many years ago. The ink remained unchanged and yet, now it looked painful, perhaps, out of place.

But it was all anybody ever saw when they looked at him and that was her point.

Luna called it, 'Branded'

* * *

She didn't paint anymore than that.

Luna finally felt fulfilled, and when she presented her collection to an audience some hated it and some loved it. But it didn't matter whether they liked it or not- that wasn't why she started.

Luna finally had found the way forward, she could start living her life the way she wanted to and good timing too, for she and Rolf had twins on the way.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please, please tell me what you think... I spent a lot of time on this one and hope it shows!**


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